Journey to the Centre of Myself (8 page)

‘But I thought we agreed to try.’

I think about the pills lying in the bottom of my bag... ‘Yes, but, well, I feel a bit railroaded to be honest. You know I want kids, I’m just not sure I want them right now.’

Will rubs the back of his neck. ‘Jesus, Amber, you flit from one thing to another.’

‘But you used to like that—my impulsiveness.’

Will is quiet for a moment. ‘I’ll always like that about you. It’s part of what makes you-you, but you can’t be like that all the time. We need to be able to make decisions together about our future and act on them.’

‘I know.’

‘Look, I’d love to give you some time, Amber, but this is something I really want for us now.’

‘I know you do.’

‘Good.’

He has nothing further to say so I go up to bed. I watch The Biggest Loser and feel like the biggest one is the one watching it.

Thursday, the office is pretty busy and there’s not much time for chatting. As the day is bright, full of winter sunshine, I decide to have lunch at the restaurant across the street. Sue’s Pantry is a small quaint restaurant that also serves the local hospital. It backs onto a park, so it’s always busy. There are no seats so I get a tea and sausage roll to go. Wrapped up, I head into the park to think. My thoughts flitter from have a kid, it’ll all be fine, to, no, I need to ask for another year. How am I supposed to decide? Shouldn’t I know?

I take a carrier bag from my pocket and place it on the grass. The cold seeps through my bottom as I sit there. I take a bite of my sausage roll, the warmth welcome against my cold lips. The pastry flakes off, some of it missing my mouth and I watch as it falls amongst the blades of grass. I wonder if I’ve provided dinner for some insects. See, I must have a mothering instinct after all. I run my fingers through the grass and rip up a couple of handfuls. I throw it in the air, creating a whirlwind on the breeze and brush my hand across the stubbly land where the grass used to be, destroyed in an instant by my actions. Why did I do that? Oh well, it’ll grow back.

Lunch eaten, and no further on with a decision, I head out of the park. I’m just through the gates when I decide I’ll toss a coin. Heads I’ll have a baby, tails I’ll wait another year. Fate can decide. I get a pound coin and throw it skywards. However, I fail to catch it and it rolls out of my reach, stopping beside a trousered leg.

‘That rich you can throw money away, huh?’

I glance up. It’s him. Oh my God, what’s he doing here?

He picks up the coin.

I move towards him and try to peek at it. ‘Can you tell me what side it landed on?’

He gives me the smile that makes his eyes crinkle. ‘You’re a strange woman. Tails it is.’

I smile back, relieved at fate’s answer. He holds up the coin. I will his hand to touch mine, but it doesn’t, he drops the coin in my palm.

‘So,’ I say.

‘So,’ he replies.

‘Well it was nice to see you again, I must get back. I’ve already been in trouble with a late card this week.’

‘Hmm, I bet you’re a whole heap of trouble.’

I begin to walk away from him and then I turn back. ‘Can I say one thing? You didn’t reply, but it was my colleague who sent you that last text, okay?’

He looks bemused. ‘No worries.’

‘It surprised me, though, that you didn’t reply.’

‘You forget our conversation, Amber,’ he says walking back towards me. ‘Although if I recall, there wasn’t much talking that night.’

I redden. ‘I’m a-afraid I can’t remember much.’

‘Well let me remind you. You said you were married and it was a mistake. Then you hurried to get a taxi though you hesitated long enough to give me your number, “in case of emergencies.”’ He chuckles. ‘I told you I was interested, but I’d need a clear green signal from you.’ He bends down and whispers in my ear. ‘You only have to make the call.’ As he whispers, his soft breath tickles my ear at the same time a small gust of wind hits the back of my neck. I tremble and goose bumps run up my arms.

‘Take care, Amber.’ He bows towards me, pretends to doff his cap and walks away.

I text Will, saying I will bring dinner home and call in at the supermarket for one of their meal deals with wine; choosing lamb in a red wine jus, garlic mash, and raspberry and dark chocolate terrine for dessert.

As I push through the door; I hear muffled words coming from the kitchen.

‘It needs sorting.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s such a mess.’

I walk through to the kitchen and find Sam sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. Her eyes are rimmed with red and bloodshot.

I look at Will. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ I go over to place my arm around Sam.

She flinches and holds her hand to her mouth.

‘Oh God, here I go again,’ she says, muffled, and dashes to our bathroom from where I hear the sounds of retching.

‘What’s he done now?’ I ask.

‘Sit tight, Amber. I’ll check she’s okay.’

‘I’m going to ring Olly. I’ll bloody kill him, the idiot. He needs to sort himself out.’

‘Not yet, Amber, eh?’

He goes upstairs and I start to make the dinner. There’s enough for Sam to have some if she feels up to it. Sounds like she could do with some wine. She’s got herself in some state to be sick. Olly’s not worth it if you ask me.

Just like that, I realise how lucky I am to have Will. He’s a keeper. He’s never let me down. I’m completely in love with him, so what on earth am I waiting for? It comes over me there and then that I
will
have his baby. We’ll be fabulous parents. Not like Sam and Olly. Don’t get me wrong, Sam’s okay though a bit overprotective, but Olly’s hopeless. Will’s going to be such a great dad. I bet I don’t have to force him to see to the baby at night, he’d be thrilled. My chest and stomach tingle. It’s like Christmas Eve when you’ve got someone their favourite present and know they’ll be opening it soon.

I pour out three glasses of Chardonnay and wait.

They walk back into the room around ten minutes later. Sam looks really pale. I pull her up a chair. ‘Here sit down, Sam.’

‘I’m alright, thanks.’ She looks at Will.

I start opening packets. ‘I’m fixing dinner. You’re welcome to stay.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat. I should be going.’

‘No,’ says Will. ‘Stay there.’

He turns to me. ‘Sam’s pregnant.’

‘Oh.’ It makes sense now, the pale face and the puking. I bet Olly’s not best pleased. ‘Congratulations, Sam. We’re trying too, so you never know, we might end up having our babies together.’

Sam bursts into noisy sobs again.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ I whisper over her shoulder to Will.

‘Amber,’ he says, looking down at his feet before lifting his eyes towards me. ‘The baby is mine.’

Chapter 10

Karen

I’m back outside my house at eleven-fifteen on a stealth mission. How will I know whether Adrian’s in? I study the windows for a while, watching for any sign of life passing behind them, but there’s nothing. Then I notice there’s a piece of post half sticking through the letter box. Surely he’d have moved it if he was in? I take a deep breath and put my key in the door.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Some sign of my not being there the last couple of days perhaps, but no, everything remains the same. The house is clean and tidy. I’m surprised to note there are no unwashed dishes. He could have eaten out, or not been here at all?

I go to the bedroom which is also the same as it was when I left, not a wrinkle in the duvet. I put my case on the bed and take out all the dirty washing, carrying it through to the bathroom and dumping it in the laundry basket. He can wash it or throw it away. Right now I don’t care. I repack the case with clean clothes, having more of an idea now of what I need to pack and how much I’ll need for a week away.

Finally, I go downstairs and boot up the computer. Where are you going this time, Karen? Again, I only want a short flight from Manchester; I’m not yet sure if I have the confidence for anything longer. I need inspiration. Amsterdam? God, no. Barcelona? I’d rather visit when it’s hot. I study my bookcase and cast my eyes at the titles until I spot a novel entitled ‘Moonlight in Paris.’
That’s
where I’ll go. I pick up the book and place it in my handbag; it’ll get me in the mood. I’m quite amused by the fact that I’m planning to travel to one of the most romantic cities in the world by myself. Well, I consider, I do need to fall in love with myself.

I check the time on my watch. I’ve been here thirty minutes already. Part of me hopes Adrian comes in and finds me, the other wants my presence discovered after I’m long gone. I spend another thirty minutes or so looking at different tours until I find what I hope is the perfect holiday on a last-minute booking site. The operator rents out rooms in a hotel with the most gorgeous looking apartments. They have views of the tower. There are also several organised sightseeing trips to visit the Eiffel Tower and some of the other attractions. I book it. The trip leaves on Friday afternoon, so I have a full twenty-four hours to fill.

I hear a bang and slam the laptop lid down. I jump up, grabbing my bag and case. My breath comes in quick gasps and I’m ready to run. Nothing happens. I walk to the front door. The noise was made by a local newspaper posted through the letter box. That’s enough for me. I make my escape, not even leaving a note.

I return to the centre of Manchester. It’s one p.m. I’d usually be having my lunch now. I decide to pop to Smith & Sons to see if Jo is free.

I walk towards the office building. It’s nothing special; a brick built structure with windows, set over two floors. I walk past the receptionist who smiles and seems to have forgotten I no longer work there. Well, I suppose it has only been six days since I left.

I used to work in the office with Jo before the reconfiguration three months ago. She’s not someone I’d class as a friend; we didn’t develop that sort of relationship, but we got on well enough. I stand next to her office doorway. I’m not entirely sure what has brought me back here. Just as I decide it was a mistake coming, I hear a voice.

‘Karen?’

‘Hey there, Jo.’

‘What’re you doing here?’

She stands back from the doorway and lets me into the office.

‘I came to collect a couple of things.’

She gazes at my case.

I smile. ‘Don’t worry I’ve not stolen half the building. I’m going on holiday.’

She looks behind me. ‘Where’s your husband? Is he with you?’

‘Oh, he’s meeting me outside Boots in an hour. He needs some things. Always last minute men, aren’t they?’ I lie.

‘So he’s got time off work too?’

‘Yes, the site’s quiet at the moment.’ I’m mad at myself. Why did I come in here, lining myself up for twenty questions when the whole point was to spend time alone? Instead, I’ve grabbed at the first straw I could find, when Jo isn’t even a proper friend. I realise I have no-one at all in my life, a sad fact that threatens to annihilate me in front of this ex-colleague if I don’t change my thoughts.

‘How’s things?’ I ask.

‘Really busy obviously. I’ve not even had time for lunch today, but I daren’t complain in case they use it as an excuse to get rid of me.’

‘I hardly ever took my lunch break, but then you know that. It means nothing to them. You’re better off taking one.’

She looks at me, nodding.

‘How’s my replacement? Still being superwoman?’

‘She’s okay, out at lunch at the moment. To be honest, her and Mirelle are getting on my nerves. They’re so young and immature, you know? All they talk about these days is having affairs with married men.’

I flinch. ‘Surely not? I thought the temp was married?’

‘She is. I don’t know what’s going on. Sounds like she was drunk at your do and got off with someone.’

‘What a tramp,’ I spit. ‘Some people don’t know what their vows mean.’

Jo looks shocked at my outburst. ‘Well anyway, I’d best get back to it,’ she whispers, ‘Andi’s constantly on the lookout.’

‘Oh, no worries,’ I whisper back. ‘Like I said, I was only popping in.’

As I leave the building, the receptionist is not in her seat. Checking the vicinity, I go behind the desk and retrieve every one of her pens, the ones we have around for visitors. There’s around twenty in all. I walk outside and throw them in the nearest waste bin. Now that’s some more money they can spend on bloody pens. I smack my hands together and carry on walking down the street.

I walk past a hairdressers called ‘Fast Cuts’ and still euphoric about Operation Pen, I enter and ask the receptionist if I can be fitted in for a cut and colour. They have space so I’m escorted to a chair by a hairdresser whose name badge says, Yvonne. She has short, spiky bleach blonde hair with a fringe that tips all the way over her face at the right side. I wonder how she can cut hair straight with half her face covered. I study my reflection in the mirror, check out my scraggy grey hair and think she can’t really make it any worse.